What Are you Doing with your Past? (Empires Collapsed)

We all carry bags
On our backs
As individuals so much as societies
Collecting all past events
Good as bad
And taking them everywhere
Using them in the present
As a mean of identification
Saying: this is what we did
This is who we are.
In that sense we are all the same
Moving forward
While hanging on the past
But what are you doing with your past?
One way of dealing with it
Is clinging to it and living it
All through the present and into the future
Bad or painfull past turn
That way
To a sad and miserable future
While we are busy
Feeling sorry for ourselves
And keep our mind
Reliving the pain instead of overcoming it.
Glorious past is as bad to cling to as a bad one
Empire living in their past glory
Reliving history and on the process
Ignoring the ever changing world around us
Only to find one day that the glory
Have pass just like everything else
And the only glorious things
Are to be found in the history book.
Another approach is to use the past
As a step for the future
Using the past events
Good as bad as a mean of making
Sure that the future would be better
Less bad incase of tragic events
Or even more glorious
Incase of a past glory.
Nothing stands still in this world
And everything moves constantly
Evolving or just changing
Which make standing still
Living the past
A sure way for collapse.
So instead of digging into the misery of the past
Look into it in the present
And find ways to make the future better.
What are you doing with the past?

Reflections from the Holy Land #2

Luftgescheft (Air Business)

They have a small industry
In old Jerusalem
Which manufacture
Boxes of air from the holy places
You can get air from the western wall
Or air from the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque
Or even air from The Church of the Holy Sepulchre
Small tin boxes that contains
A genuine air and smells from
These magical ancient places
For a buck or two.
I thought of buying a box or two
As a present and for the memory
But after walking in the streets
Of old Jerusalem
When the sun hit the narrow streets
And the temperature
Over come the 90 sign
The smell of all those crowded
People, sweating on one each other
And the odor of decomposing fruits
From the market mixed with these bodily fragrances
I finally realized:
Some smells are better kept
Away from the nose.
At all cost
As holy as they can be.

oh, how much i hate the good life...

At my Aunt

Oh, It's the good life again
You sleep
You eat
Than rest again
She ask you for your needs
Every second
Cooking everything you like
Buying everything you show interest in
Making comments
And than changing her mind
To be in the same stand like you
She even insist of carrying
Everything around
While outside.
You eat
You sleep
Than rest again
I just remembered
Oh, how much I hate
The good life.

**poetry from barista boy (on location in israel)

An observation from the Holy Land

Jesus Died and Lives in Jerusalem

I met Jesus the other day
In Jerusalem.
Actually I met few of them
Strolling down the streets.
It is quiet easy to meet them
In this old city
And the farther you go
Toward the old city
Where everything happened
In the past
The higher chances you have
To meet them.
They appears in all colors and forms
Usually on the corners of small streets
When they are away from the eyes
Of the police
And around enough people
To lecture to.
One was wearing some old
And very well used hippy clothing
With a sweet smell of alcohol
That floats in the air around him
Unshaven and a bit less clean
Than your average person
He was standing on the corner
Of Jaffa Street, speaking
The words just poured from his mouth
For hours
Barely stopping to breath
He told the story of the world
Or at least the version that he knew
Covering each and every possible topic
From ancient history
To the far future
Managing to catch some attention
Each time he raised his voice
To emphasis a point.
The other one
On the corner of Talbi’Yeah
Stood there, quietly in his white dress
With a small note attached to his chest
Saying “I Am Jesus”,
Expecting to see a dark figure
Underneath the white dress (Jalabi’yea)
The way they use to dress in some
Mediterranean countries all around
One would be shocked to find out
That this Jesus was much lighter
Looking Japanese in his features,
Standing there, staring at the people passing by
Saying nothing.
Jesus died and lives in Jerusalem,
All around you, you can find them
In various colors and looks
Standing there on street corners
Preaching to the world.
A friend of mine told me
That I’ve missed the most famous one
The one that used to travel in the
City’s triangle (main streets)
And that managed to acquire a lot of attention
Making comments
On the daily events,
Apparently he died recently
From a broken heart
Because no one believed him
That he is Jesus
And he is the Messiah.
And than I saw her
In a back street behind
The market
With pale eyes and light hair
Dressed up in an orange skirt
With flowers all around her
Singing a chant in her crystal clear voice
Addressing everyone and ignoring them
At the same time.
I stood there for a while mesmerized to her
Hypnotic tune
And her graceful gentle movement
Thinking to myself
“Maybe, I did met Jesus – at last”
but when I asked her
She just nod No with her head
And whispered:
I am not Jesus
I am from a different story
From a different time,
She smiled and just went on
Singing.

a poem

I`d never read any of Charles Bukowski until this week. My younger brother recommended him, and I have had some time to read some of his poems. They hit me like a baseball...I couldn`t stop reading one after the other. He wrote for another time, but his words are so true today. They will be true for a long time, I think. People are people, and he really got people down pat. that, to me, is a great writer. Here is a short untitled poem:

you begin by starving in cheap
rooms
and you end up by
asking your lawyer
to keep an eye on your
tax accountant.

make a poem out of
that.